Part of the brilliance and power of Richard Wright’s “Native Son,” especially for its 1940 publication, is that every time black protagonist Bigger Thomas commits an atrocity, it feels as though it’s the only move he could possibly make. Even as he murders, covers it up, murders again and ultimately runs and hides, becoming like the rat he so memorably kills in the novel’s opening moments, Wright always presents Bigger as a true “native son” — as an everyman responding, just as anyone else might, to the unjust conditions to which Chicago’s South Side and by extension, his racist country, subject him.

Yet in Nambi E. Kelley’s adaptation of the book, whose West Coast premiere opened Tuesday, Jan. 25, at Marin Theatre Company, Bigger’s crimes don’t seem particularly inevitable, or even relatable. Played by Jerod Haynes, who originated the role at Chicago’s Court Theatre in 2014, Bigger just seems like a jerk.

That’s because of two major flaws in the script. First is how cinematically and associatively it’s structured, cutting from one location to another at times with almost every new speaker. Kelley often groups characters’ lines by how they relate to each other thematically, rather than chronologically. When one character in one place and time says a word like “father” or “dead” or “job,” that’s liable to drive someone else, from somewhere else, to pop up and echo it.

This feels like an admirable effort to paint Bigger’s psychic landscape as full and rich, to reveal the web of competing forces behind his every decision, banal or ghastly. But the pace is so quick that in any given moment, it’s tough to keep track of what his imminent decision is, who the players are and what their stakes might be.

It’s not just a logistical issue. With such start-and-stop rhythms, few scenes are allowed to build toward a meaningful emotional climax, even as director Seret Scott, who also helmed the show’s world premiere in Chicago, has assembled a professional and capable cast, particularly Dane Troy, a standout in various ensemble roles. Transmogrifying from aw-shucks little brother to uppity husband to stooped grocer, he exemplifies the way character acting isn’t just a matter of posture, of freezing your face in a certain way; it’s about channeling a spirit that animates the whole being.

Compounding the show’s storytelling is that Kelley opens with her most tense, most action-packed scenes, and then spends the rest of the show explaining them. After Bigger, a chauffeur, accidentally kills drunk white socialite Mary (Rosie Hallett) and then overzealously kills the enormous rat that’s invaded his family’s apartment, much of what follows is little more than context or elaboration. Even when fresh dangers emerge, the show’s tone maintains the same dull ache.

The script’s other major flaw is what could have been its most successful attribute. Kelley makes the Black Rat of the play’s opening scene into a full-fledged human character, played by William Hartfield. As Bigger’s subconscious, his double consciousness, his inner critic, the Black Rat doesn’t die when Bigger pulverizes him in the play’s first scenes. He and Bigger are in constant dialogue, debating how to avoid whites’ suspicion, how to get out of the latest scrape. Yet Bigger never questions, nor rebels against, nor even looks at the Black Rat, and the low-level angst in their relationship never varies.

Making the Black Rat a character could have theatricalized the novel’s storytelling. It could have made narration, consciousness, dynamic onstage. But Kelley’s “Native Son” isn’t quite there. For now, you’re still better off with the book.